


While You're In the World

by nicky_writes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slow Burn, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22483075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicky_writes/pseuds/nicky_writes
Summary: The year is 1980, and when you come home to find a man on your doorstep, beaten and bloody and on the brink of dying, you patch him up and let him stay with you while he heals. But there’s something strange about this stranger with the metal arm, and it will take a while before either of you know who he really is.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter One

The pavement was slick, the lights of streetlamps, neon signs, and apartment windows creating a kaleidoscope of colors against the rain-wet concrete. The air was still humid from the heavy spring shower that had just subsided, and your footsteps pitter pattered as you made your way towards the rickety stairs that led to your apartment. As you walked further down the alleyway, the sounds of cars flying by on the street stated to fade into the background, slowly being replaced by a boombox sitting right by one of your neighbor’s open windows. The sweet strains of _Brandy_ by Looking Glass floated down to you, and you started humming along as you searched through your purse for your keys.

“ _Brandy_ ,” you sang under your breath, “ _you’re a fine girl, what a good_ -“

Your voice cut off abruptly just as you were about to start climbing the stairs; a dark form was directly at their base, one that you hadn’t even noticed in the dim, late-evening light. You froze when you saw it shift slightly, its chest rising and falling in slow, wheezing breaths.

“…U-um… Hello?” you asked cautiously, fingers closing around the pepper spray you kept with you at all times.

The figure’s head popped up, revealing pale, sweaty skin framed by dark, chin-length hair. You squinted, trying to make out their features, but they were unclear; you could only make out that they had stubble. So, it was a man. You gripped your pepper spray tighter.

“Excuse me, sir, but… I need to get past you.” You shifted on your feet when he remained sitting there, not showing any inclination towards moving. “Sir, please, I live here. I don’t want any-“

He groaned, his left hand shooting out to grip the stair’s railway. He was wearing leather gloves despite the warmth of the spring evening, and he let out another grunt as he staggered to his feet. As soon as he was standing, though, he sank right back down, his right arm coming up to clutch his abdomen.

“Sir…” You stepped forward, hesitantly reaching out a hand. “Are you okay…?”

You tried to touch his right hand, but you flinched away as soon as you felt the dark, warm liquid that was seeping out from between his fingers. Blood.

“Oh, my god,” you gasped, suddenly gripping his arm. You only got to notice how unnaturally hard it was before he was pulling away, trying to distance himself from you.

“ _Trebuie să raportez pentru misiunea mea_ ,” he whispered, sounding desperate. You frowned, holding your hands out in a placating gesture.

“I don’t know what that means. Do you speak English?”

His breathing was picking up, and you could see his head moving as he looked all around you, as if searching for something.

“…Need… Need to get…back,” he eventually muttered, trying once more to pull himself to his feet. “Report…”

“Listen, you can’t go anywhere in this state,” you asserted. “If you let me past, I can go inside and call the hospital-“

“No!”

All of a sudden, you felt his left hand clamp down on your wrist, and you let out a yelp at his bruising grip. You tried to yank your arm away, but that only added to your pain; you gave up your struggle quickly.

“No…” he said again, his breathing becoming more and more labored with each word. “No…hospital…”

You gulped, looking down at the hand on your wrist, and your eyes widened as you saw his sleeve ride up just enough for you to catch a glance of his forearm. Or, rather, the metal that it was made up of; shiny silver gleamed in the low light, its bands flexing and contracting with his movements. He must have noticed you staring, because just as suddenly as it had gotten there, his hand was drawn away, moving to rest against his bleeding stomach.

For a moment, you considered pushing past him, fleeing up your flight of stairs and locking yourself away until he left. He was a complete stranger – bigger than you, stronger than you, with what appeared to be a metal arm. And someone had either stabbed or shot him – who’s to say he didn’t deserve it?

But then he let out a soft moan of pain, falling back against your stairs weakly. He was still breathing, but you could see the amount of blood he was dripping onto the pavement; at this rate, he wouldn’t _keep_ breathing for long.

With a sigh, you pushed aside your better judgement and reached down, ignoring his weak protests in that foreign language as you gripped his flesh arm with both hands. You dug your heels into the concrete and pulled with all your might, steadying him to the best of your ability once he was on his feet.

“C’mon,” you mumbled. “If you can climb the stairs, I have a first aid kit inside.”

At first, he didn’t move, and you were afraid that he was going to pass out. But then he lifted one shaky foot up, lowering it down onto the second step, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, deliberately, you led him up the stairs, guiding him up to the landing. You only pulled away to fit your key into the lock, but as soon as your door was open, you once more gripped him and led him inside.

“The kit if in the bathroom. If you can just follow me-“

The second you turned away, you heard a loud bang as he fell to his knees. He was still babbling words that you didn’t understand, English finding its way every now and then into his mutterings.

“Report…. mission….find…”

You let out a huff and knelt beside him, flipping him over onto his back. He was as solid as a brick house, and it took several seconds of huffing and puffing before you were able to move him over. Once he was positioned the way you wanted, you flicked on the lights and ran to retrieve the first aid kit.

As you once more knelt beside him, you shooed away your cat as it started walking towards the man, sniffing at his flesh hand cautiously.

“Not now, baby,” you sighed, shooing it away.

The man’s eyes were closed when your gaze drifted up to his face, but you had to do a double-take once you took his features in. Now that you could see him in the light, he was…hot. Weirdly hot. Like, more hot than actual people were supposed to be in real life. Strong jaw, long lashes, full lips… You nearly got carried away with just _looking_ at him.

But the blood stain was growing ever larger on your hardwood, and with a curse you got back to work. It appeared that he was wearing some kind of body armor; you struggled with the various clasps and zippers before finally pulling it open. Underneath it was a long-sleeved gray shirt; or, rather, it had once been gray, but now most of it was stained red.

Using the tiny pair of scissors from the kit, you cut away the fabric, eyes going wide when you saw the scene beneath it. Several lacerations were scattered across his torso; his body armor had been thick, but despite its coverage someone had been able to stab him through it. You counted four knife wounds, but they didn’t seem to go too terribly deep. What worried you was the bullet holes; there were only two, but they were bleeding the most profusely.

You couldn’t remember if you were supposed to take bullets out of bullet wounds in emergency situations, but you figured that if he could survive having a metal arm, maybe he could survive with a few bullets knocking around inside of him. Besides, he had lost enough blood already without you digging through his torn flesh.

With shaky hands, you pulled out a surgical needle from the kit, thanking the heavens that it came pre-threaded. You held your breath as you moved to the first bullet hole, and despite the fact that the man’s face held no trace of pain, you still winced as you pierced his flesh. You’d never actually done this before; you had only ever seen people stitch up wounds in movies, and you’d read about how to do it in an encyclopedia once for your research. You tried to recall and emulate those motions now as you treated the man beneath you.

“Shoulda just left him sitting there,” you mumbled to yourself. “Shoulda just called the damn hospital when you had the chance; now you have a bloody floor and a potential serial killer sleeping in your apartment. How you gonna explain _that_ to the landlord?”

You worked as quickly as possible, and when you were done stitching all six of his injuries, you sat back on your heels, admiring your work for one moment. All things considered, you thought you did pretty good.

After that, you used some rubbing alcohol to clean him up before taping layer after layer of gauze over his wounds. Your own eyes were starting to grow heavy as you finished up, but you knew that there was still work to be done.

You didn’t even try to lift or drag him from his spot on the floor; you were exhausted, and he was probably over 200 pounds of pure muscle. So you cleaned around him, sopping up most of the blood with an old towel before washing your hands and retrieving a pillow from your bed. You yawned as you lifted his head, sliding the cushion underneath his skull before going back to get him a blanket.

You felt foolish as you tucked him in, but you’d already gone so far as to dress his wounds; you figured you might as well make him as comfortable as possible. After making sure that he was still breathing, you shuffled over to your couch, limbs heavy and sore from being so tense. As soon as you let your head fall back, you started to feel sleep overtake you; you barely registered the weight of your cat curling up on your belly as you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep despite the stranger laying six feet away.

_________

The grunting was what woke you up. Somewhere close by, you could hear the shuffling of fabric and barely-suppressed curses, and your eyes immediately flew open. You ignored the aching in your neck as you sat up, looking over to see the stranger from the night before trying (and failing) to sit up.

“Hey!”

His head snapped towards you, a pair of confused blue eyes glaring into yours.

“Where am I?” he whispered, voice still sluggish from sleep. “Who are you? How did I get here?”

“Woah, there. Calm down.” You stood up, taking a slow step towards him. “I’m not gonna hurt you; I found you on my stairs all bloody last night, and I-“

The man was glancing all around your apartment, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stand up. You let out a huff, seeing a small red stain bloom over the white gauze still secured to his skin.

“Woah, stop!” you tried to protest. “You’re tearing your stitches. Just calm down-“

“I have,” he struggled, starting to sway on his feet, “a mission. I need-“

“Listen, I don’t care what this ‘mission’ is,” you huffed. “You won’t be able to do anything if you bleed out. Just… Would you just sit down for one moment? You’re not going to get very far if you leave like this.”

For a long moment, the man simply looked at you, weighing your words even as more blood leaked through his bandages. You arched an eyebrow at him, setting your hands on your hips. Eventually, after a pregnant pause, he looked down and nodded his head, doing a double-take when he saw the growing crimson stain on the gauze. You winced and stepped forward, ignoring the way his muscles tensed up as you approached.

“C’mon, you can lay down on the sofa.” You held out a hand, ready to support his weight like you had last night. But he silently turned, bypassing your outstretched arm as he walked over to the couch.

He sat down with a quiet sigh, leaning back against the throw pillows as he carefully peeled back the bandages.

“Be careful with those stitches,” you instructed him, bending over to scoop up the first-aid kit.

He didn’t seem to hear you as he started analyzing his wounds, eyes scanning them clinically with nothing more than a small frown on his lips. You rolled your eyes and sat on the coffee table across from him, your knees grazing his as you opened the kit once more.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you scoffed. “You know, for saving your life?”

He arched an eyebrow, and his eyes darted up to look at you, but he still said nothing. All he did was reach forward and grab another surgical needle, biting his lip as he moved to start stitching himself up.

“Woah, hold on a second,” you exclaimed. You gripped his wrist and tried to pull his arm away, but he didn’t budge. “I can-“

“One of the stitches broke,” he finally mumbled. Your eyes flickered down to see that he had, indeed, pulled one of the stitches in his biggest knife wound.

“I can see that,” you said. “But you don’t have to, like… I mean, I can stitch it for you.”

“Why do you want to stitch me up?”

You paused at that question.

“…Because you’re bleeding?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, and he shook your hand off of his wrist once more.

“Not what I meant.”

“Well, why _don’t_ you want me to help you?” you countered, watching as he steadily pulled the needle through his skin.

“Because you did a shitty job with the rest of them.” He gestured to the rest of his injuries, causing your jaw to drop.

“Fucking… I didn’t _have_ to help you, you know,” you groused. “And considering the situation you were in, I would think that you’d be grateful that I even-“

The man was, evidently, tuning you out as he dug around the kit for the medical scissors, and with a sigh you stopped talking and handed them to him. He grunted as he accepted them from you; maybe that was his way of saying thanks?

You watched as he continued to patch himself up, replacing the stitches he’d pulled that morning and redoing some of your more sloppy ones from before. At first, you watched him work in silence, but after a while you started to get antsy, a thousand questions running through your mind to ask him.

“So… What happened last night?” you finally asked. “Did you get into a fight?”

His face remained stone cold, and you realized he wasn’t going to answer you.

“Okay, then,” you muttered. “Um… Are you from here? I thought I heard you say something in another language last night.”

Again, nothing. You huffed and watched as he finished tying off the last stitch, clipping it neatly before rooting around for more gauze.

“Do you have a name?” you eventually said.

He paused at that question, his face tilting up to yours. He blinked a few times, as if confused by the question, before starting to bandage his wound once again. He mumbled something under his breath, and you leaned closer, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear-“

“I said I don’t know,” he murmured. You shook your head, puzzled.

“What do you mean? You must know what your name is.”

He didn’t say anything more as he kept taping gauze over his abdomen, and you stood up, planting your hands on your hips.

“If you don’t wanna tell me your name, you don’t have to,” you grumbled. “But you don’t have to make something up about not knowing it.”

He glanced at you one more time before standing up, and you stumbled back in surprise when he moved towards your front door.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“I need to report for my-“

“Yeah, yeah, your mission,” you interrupted. “You kept babbling about it last night. But listen, man, if you go anywhere right now, you’re just going to pull your stitches again; you’ll bleed out before you can report to whoever it is you’re trying to get back to. You need to just lay down for a little while and focus on healing, or you’ll be in the same situation you were in last night real fast.”

He turned back to you, his hand already resting on the doorknob, and you could see the confusion written all across his face. His eyes ran along your features, as if trying to figure you out, before he finally spoke.

“Why do you care what happens to me?”

You were taken aback by his question, but you found that, when you answered him, you meant every word you said.

“Why do I need a reason to? You’re a human being like me, and you needed help.”

His eyes widened, and for a second all he did was look at you. You forced yourself to stare right back at him, watching those blue eyes as they came to the realization that you were being honest. Slowly, hesitantly, he let his hand fall off of the doorknob, and you smiled.

“Thank you. Now come lay down, and try not to pull too much on your stitches.”

Mechanically, he did as you said, stiffly laying down on the sofa. He had to bend his legs to fit on it, but he seemed comfortable enough as he settled back into the cushions. You nodded and moved to put away the first aid kit, but his hand darted out, settling on your wrist. He didn’t grip it like he had last night, and you thought you saw him wince when he saw the bruises his metal hand had left behind on your flesh.

“I… really don’t think I have a name,” he spoke quietly. “But they’ve always called me Soldier.”

You frowned at that, immediately wanting to ask who “they” were, but you already knew that he wasn’t going to tell you. So you just nodded, letting your other hand rest over his for a short second before starting to clean up once more.

“Ok, Soldier,” you breathed, tucking the kit under your arm. “Well… I’m going to make breakfast for myself. You ok with oatmeal?”

He nodded distractedly, looking away, and you turned on your heel to go do that. As you were cooking, you couldn’t help but ponder over the enigma that was currently laying on your sofa. You didn’t even know his name, just that he was supposedly a Soldier. Did he have amnesia? Maybe he’d been hit on the head or something in whatever fight he’d gotten into.

Whatever the case was, you knew for sure that you were in some kind of trouble. You didn’t know what kind just yet, but you had a bad feeling about it.

___________

He was most quiet on that first day. After your meager breakfast, you’d sat in the corner and typed away at your typewriter, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye every now and then. For hours on end, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, looking to be deep in thought. The only times he moved were to get up and go to the bathroom, and he didn’t say a word until that afternoon.

At around 3 or so, your cat had jumped up onto the couch, rubbing against Soldier’s legs. He’d jolted at the sudden appearance of the feline, and his eyes were comically wide as he stared down at your pet. You laughed at the sight, causing him to glance over at you.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a cat before,” you’d chuckled.

“I’ve seen ‘em before, it’s just…” He’d watched as it started kneading at his thigh, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been… _touched_ by one before.”

You smiled as the cat settled down, laying in his lap and starting to purr.

“Well, Obi certainly seems to like you,” you’d remarked. “He loves it when people pet him.”

Cautiously, Soldier lifted his flesh arm and gently drew it over the cat’s back. Obi purred even harder and arched into the touch, closing his eyes as he leaned into the stranger’s hand. Soldier kept petting him, getting more sure in his movements, and you felt something warm bloom in your chest when you saw a tiny smile come over his lips.

“See? Looks like you’ve made a friend.”

That night, you’d slept in your bed, fully expecting to wake up the next morning in an empty house; you’d said goodnight to Soldier, telling him to wake you up if he needed anything, and he’d just nodded silently before turning his attention back to the ceiling. He’d seemed so dedicated to his mission that morning that, when you walked in the next day to see him snoring on the sofa, you’d been shocked.

Padding over to him quietly, you’d taken in his features while he slept; he looked so different when he was asleep. He didn’t have that perpetual frown on his face, and there were no worried lines on his forehead. You smiled a little, wondering why, indeed, you cared so much about his guy. Maybe it was because he was so clearly confused by every simple kindness you gave him; maybe it was how helpless he’d been when you first found him. But whatever the case was, you knew that you wanted to know more about the mysterious life he lived.

You’d sat your hand down on his shoulder, ready to ask him if he wanted any coffee, but his eyes had flown open at your touch. He’d flinched away, pressing his body into the sofa cushions as far as he could, swinging his left hand out towards your throat. With a yelp, you backed away before the metallic fingers could close around your flesh, but your heart was still beating a mile a minute.

For a second, he just stared at you, catching his breath, and you didn’t know what to say. Your brain was filled with things – _you’re okay, it’s only me, I don’t want to hurt_ _you_. But you couldn’t articulate them as he watched you.

“I’m….sorry,” he eventually breathed. Slowly, he retracted his hand and let it fall into his lap, his head bowed as he looked down. One by one, he let his muscles relax, but you were still as tense as a bowstring.

After letting out a deep sigh, he turned to you, regret settling deep in his eyes.

“Did I…” He paused, as if trying to form the right words. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head shakily, but you still weren’t able to utter even a single word before you turned and fled to the kitchen. You turned on the sink and splashed water over your face, realizing two horrible truths at the same time.

The first one was that you still knew nothing about this man, except that he was dangerous. You’d known it from the beginning; you’d seen the scars littering his body when you’d dressed his wounds. He could kill you without any effort whatsoever, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But that fact wasn’t enough to overshadow the second truth. The second truth was what moved you to pour him a cup of black coffee and bring it to him with a bowl of cereal. The second truth was what made you offer to let him use your shower. The second truth is what motivated you to root through your dresser until you found a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were big enough to fit him.

And that second truth was this: he had been hurt before. You’d seen it in his eyes, in his knee-jerk reaction to being touched. You’d been reading it in his confusion, in his suspicion. You were beginning to think that he really didn’t know what his name was, but you didn’t need to know his name to know that he was being abused by someone or something.

So when he came out of the bathroom in your shirt and sweatpants, his hair dripping as he slicked it back against his head, you smiled at him and helped him back onto your couch before settling back down at your typewriter.

_________

“What are you writing?”

He didn’t know what prompted him to ask you. He’d been content to spend the past three days staring at the wall, petting Obi whenever he jumped onto the sofa, demanding his attention. He knew that he should have already left; he healed quickly – abnormally quickly. But something was keeping him here even after his wounds closed, with the strange girl who’d helped him for some unknown, foreign reason. He couldn’t stop himself from studying you, watching as you went about your quiet routine.

You blinked now, looking up at him from behind a stray piece of hair that had fallen over your eye. You blew it away, shoving it behind your ear, and he was almost tempted to smile when, a few seconds later, it fell right back into place. Almost.

“Um… I’m working on a book,” you replied, seeming just as surprised as he was at his question. “I’m a writer. Not a great one, by any means. But it manages to pay the bills.”

“What is your book about?”

“Well… it’s complicated,” you smiled. You leaned back, setting your hands on the floor behind you as you spoke to him. “I guess it’s a love story, but it takes place during the 1940’s.”

Something in his mind flickered at that, something dangerously close to being a memory. He couldn’t remember very far back; the only solid memories he had were of cold, concrete buildings, of receiving orders to do things that he never questioned, no matter what they were. He remembered pain, searing pain, ripping through his skull when he didn’t do as he was commanded, but the pain was somehow still there even when he did. There was no name, no humanity inside of him, and until you’d reminded him that he was, despite it all, still a person, he’d never even wondered why.

But now, he could feel something digging at the back of his mind, scratching at him as you kept talking about your book.

“It’s about a nurse who falls in love with a soldier she’s treating in France,” you kept on. “The problem, though, is that the soldier is married. But there’s also a point in the story where she gets roped into going across enemy lines to go undercover in a German camp, and the married soldier has to pose as her husband for their assignment.”

He nodded, tuning you out as he tried to follow that thought deep within him. It was there, _right there_ , but he just couldn’t-

“Anyways, I’m almost done with my first draft,” you continued on. “But I can’t remember what year World War II ended; was it 1945? Or-“

He jolted, pulling himself upright as it came flooding back to him.

 _He was…smiling, actually smiling. There was a man standing with him in a red, white, and blue uniform, and he was laughing at something Bucky had said. Bucky…._ Bucky Barnes _. Sergeant Barnes. James Buchanan…_

_“Whatever,” the man was saying, his blonde hair glinting in the candlelight. They were in a bar somewhere, and people all around them were drinking and singing. Some were even dancing. “I had him on the ropes.”_

_“What you had,” he teased, clapping the man on his shoulder, “was a serious lack of judgement. Which you still have, by the way. The only reason you still have a head on your shoulders is cuz o’ me, punk.”_

_“Jerk. Now c’mon; we gotta plan tomorrow’s attack.”_

_“C’mon, Stevie, what’s the point in winning a battle if you’re not gonna celebrate afterwards?”_

When Bucky came out of the memory, you were standing over him, a hand on his shoulder as you looked over his face.

“Soldier? Are you ok? What just happened?”

He gasped, trying not to hyperventilate as the memory played over and over again in his head. He had a name. He had a name. He’d had a name all these years…

“Bucky,” he rasped. You frowned and shook your head, watching as he stood up and started to pace.

“What? Soldier, what are you-“

“Not Soldier,” he grunted, turning on his heel to face you. He gulped, looking down at his hands, clenching the one made of metal as he listened to its gears turn.

“Not Soldier,” he repeated. “Bucky. My name…my name is Bucky.”

_________

After that day, you never called him Soldier again. He didn’t tell you what had spurred on the sudden memory, but he seemed even more quiet than usual over the next day. Whatever he’d remembered, he seemed to be conflicted by it; you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had to have been feeling.

You tried to give him space, though, electing to go out that afternoon. You’d thrown on a pair of red shorts with a white Nasa t-shirt tucked into them, pulling on your Chuck Taylors before walking back out to Sol- Bucky. He was still pacing, running his hands through his hair agitatedly, but he stopped when you cleared your throat.

“Bucky? I’m going to go out, ok? I’ll be back soon.”

He’d frowned, glancing you up and down.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the thrift shop. And maybe the grocery store. I figured I would try and shop for more clothes for you; I don’t think you’ll fit into any of my other t-shirts.”

He’d nodded, seeming satisfied, but his voice made you stop once more as you moved to open the door.

“And you’re coming back?”

You’d turned around, surprised at how…nervous he’d sounded while asking you.

“Bucky… Of course, I’ll be back,” you assured him. He visibly relaxed at that, and you gave him one last smile before walking out.

When you eventually got back to your apartment, you were loaded down with several plastic bags, and Bucky immediately stood up from his seat on the couch as you entered.

“You’re back,” he said, but it sounded like he was assuring himself more than you. Your heart broke a little at that, but you just smiled and nodded, setting the bags down on the dining room table.

“Yeah, sorry it took so long,” you told him. “It took me a while to pick out clothes that I thought would fit you. But I think you’ll be happy with them. I got you some more sweatpants, a pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, a windbreaker… Oh, and some sunglasses just cuz.”

You smiled and handed him the bag, watching as he curiously started to sort through it. He wrinkled his nose a little at the windbreaker, making you laugh a bit. You’d thought it was fashionable; you’d read in an article recently that they were gonna be the next big thing.

“What’s this?”

You looked up from the groceries you were unpacking to see him holding a cassette tape, and you walked over to take it from him.

“It’s a tape,” you explained. “You know, like a music tape? You put it into a radio?” You knew from the blank look on his face that he had no idea what you were talking about. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

You’d gestured for him to follow you over to the boombox you had sitting by your sofa, and you popped it open to slide the cassette into.

“You put it in like this,” you started, “and then you close it again. Then you press play, and…”

Elton John’s voice filled the room, belting out the lyrics to _Your Song_ , and the frown on Bucky’s face slowly melted away. You grinned, watching him as he listened to the lyrics. That same old tiny smile came over his face, and you felt as if you were going to melt at the sight.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Bucky nodded, finally glancing back over to you. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he turned away, seeming to think better of it.

“No, don’t do that,” you said gently. “What were you gonna say?”

He turned back to you and hesitated again, but finally he did as you said and spoke.

“I’m really… I don’t know what to think anymore,” he stammered, seeming to have trouble voicing the words. “But I do know that I’m grateful to you… For helping me, for letting me stay here. I… I don’t really know what to do, where I should go.” He looked down at his hands, blinking rapidly. “I don’t even know who I am.”

You bit your lip, reaching over to place your hand over his, its cold metal smooth against your fingertips.

“Whoever you were, Bucky… Whoever you’ve been, it doesn’t really matter. The memories will come back to you; we’ll make sure they do. But what really matters is who you’re _gonna be_. Who do you want to be?”

He looked up to you, his eyes growing watery.

“I…don’t know.”

“Then now is the time for you to figure it out. And while you do, you’re welcome to stay with me. I’ll try to do my best to help.”

He shook his head, turning your hand over in his.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing all of this,” he murmured.

You smiled a little, ducking your head until he was meeting your eyes again.

“Because this is who _I_ want to be,” you assured him. “Someone who helps.”

The two of you sat there until the song was over, its final words echoing in the space between you. _I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…how wonderful life is while you’re in the world…_


	2. Chapter Two

The next few weeks were interesting, to say the least. You worked on your book, letting Bucky read passages of it to get his thoughts on what you’d written. He always had nice things to say, along with critiques or constructive criticism. Turns out, he knew a lot about what life back in the 40’s was like, so he would always help you correct continuity errors when they arose. Any time you asked him how he knew so much about that time period, he would frown and shrug, telling you that he didn’t know how. He just did.

You were quickly learning that Bucky wasn’t like other guys, and in more ways than were just obvious. It only took him four days to heal from the wounds that had very nearly killed him. You’d stared for a solid sixty seconds at the tanned, freshly-scarred skin of his abdomen, trying to process how it was possible.

“Bucky, you…you realize that this isn’t normal, right?” you’d asked. He’d arched an eyebrow at you while tugging his shirt back down, levelling you with a skeptical look.

“When have I ever given off an indication of being ‘normal’?” he’d snarked back.

That was another thing; the man was becoming more and more human with every passing day. He still hadn’t remembered anything other than his name and a blonde man from his past named Steve, but his personality was still shining through. You saw it in the way his eyebrows would bounce from something you said, or in the sarcastic tone of his voice when he would answer one of your probing questions.

“Why do you have a metal arm?” you’d finally questioned him one night over dinner. He hadn’t even stopped in his rhythm of moving his fork up to his mouth as he replied.

“Well it’s just so fashionable.”

He was always quiet in his joking, and he was always so surprised when you would laugh at his humor; it was as if he wasn’t even aware of his own teasing. But even if he didn’t know it, he was becoming more and more comfortable with showing you his true colors.

He was still incredibly timid about certain things, though, and still had an aura of sadness floating around him. You were desperate for him to smile; you tried to joke around with him, and while his face would always soften at your goofy comments, it was still never enough to pull him out of his stupor.

On the seventh day of him living with you, though, you marched over to the couch and stood over him, hands planted on your hips.

“I think you should get out of the house,” you stated. “You can’t just keep sitting on my couch all day long staring out the window.”

He frowned, straightening up.

“You… want me to leave?”

You faltered in your confidence, his nervousness taking you off guard.

“Bucky… No,” you assured him, sitting beside him. “No, I like having you here. It’s just that I don’t think it’s healthy for you to stay copped up inside all day. Maybe you could come with me to the grocery store? Or the library? I need to return a few books today; maybe going out will help to jog your memory.”

He considered it, chewing absentmindedly on his lip as he watched your cat twine around his ankles. He reached down with his metal hand and let Obi rub his face against it.

“…Ok,” he finally nodded. He seemed apprehensive about it, but you were over the moon. With a grin, you stood up, rushing to your bedroom.

“Great! I’m going to get changed; you go ahead and get ready, and I’ll meet you at the door in ten.”

You quickly changed into a yellow romper, pulling your hair back with a headband and sliding some gloss over your lips before waltzing back into the living room. You were just about to ask Bucky if he would like to get some lunch with you, but your words died on your tongue when you saw him standing in just the pair of gray jeans you’d bought for him at the thrift shop. He was sorting through the stack of t-shirts you’d gifted him, a long-sleeved blue shirt in one hand, a long-sleeved white one in the other.

He looked up, lips parting in surprise at seeing you standing there, and you thought you saw a blush rise over his cheeks as you stared at his naked torso. You’d noticed the scars before, sure, but you had no idea how you’d could have missed how muscular he was. His flesh arm was just as ripped as the metal one, and prominent abs popped out along his stomach. Just as your eyes started skirting over the scar along the line of where his metal arm met his shoulder, he turned away and pulled the white shirt on, hurrying to pull on the gloves he’d been wearing when you first found him.

You snapped out of it, feeling your cheeks heating up as you slung your purse over your shoulder.

“Um… Are you hungry? I thought we could stop for pizza on the way to the store,” you stammered. You saw Bucky nod out of the corner of you vision before bending over to slip on his boots.

“Sure.”

After he was done getting ready, the two of you set out. The metal stairs creaked and shook under Bucky’s weight as he walked down them behind you, and you gripped the railing with a white-knuckled grip.

“I really need to talk to the landlord about these stairs,” you mumbled.

When you emerged from the alleyway, you got about five steps down the sidewalk before realizing that your companion wasn’t next to you anymore. Turning around, you saw him squinting in the sunlight, taking in the busy street before him. Brown brick building rose up as far as the eye could see, with cars honking their horns and flying along the road.

“Bucky? You ok?”

He gulped and turned to you, a uncertain glimmer in his eyes.

“Where are we?”

You frowned at the question and shook your head, walking back over to him.

“Brooklyn,” you answered. “I thought you knew that. We’re in Brooklyn, New York.”

Once more, he looked around, taking in the neat row of shops across the street. He was quiet for a long moment, and just as you were about to say something, he turned to you once more.

“I know this place,” he murmured. “I remember it. I think… I think I grew up here.”

You blinked a few times before a grin stretched across your face.

“Bucky, this is fantastic! You’re starting to remember,” you exclaimed, setting your hand on his shoulder. You watched as a half-smile twisted his lips, and at least part of his nervousness seemed to dissipate under your enthusiasm.

“Yeah, I guess it is good,” he agreed.

“C’mon, maybe pizza will jog your memory,” you said, reaching down to grab his hand. “Any true New Yorker can never forget the pizza here.”

You tugged on him until he was following you again, and you found yourself reluctant to let go of him. You forced your hand to drop to your side after a few steps, though, and you told yourself to ignore the butterflies in your chest. He had enough on his plate without you shoving you schoolgirl crush on him.

The two of you walked together for a while, with you pointing out landmarks as you went, trying to jog his memory. All the while, Bucky watched you prattle on with that same puppy-dog look of confusion in his eyes, but he still smiled anytime you grinned up at him.

“Ok, we’re here!”

You jogged up the steps of your favorite pizzeria, opening the door for Bucky.

“Luigi’s Pizza might be my favorite place in the whole city,” you said, getting in line to order. “It’s been here since the 1930’s, and their recipe apparently hasn’t changed at all. They only sell five different kinds of pies, but each of them is delicious.”

Bucky nodded dutifully, and when it came time to order, he just muttered that he would get whatever you usually got. And so, five minutes later, the two of you were sitting on a bench outside the shop, a huge, greasy slice of pepperoni pizza on each of your paper plates with two cans of Coke resting against your leg.

You watched as Bucky folded the slice in half at the crust, and you smiled when he took a pensive bite out of it. You watched as his eyes widened at the taste, and you giggled as you did the same.

“Pretty great, huh?”

When Bucky didn’t answer, you just shrugged and kept eating, oblivious to the discovery Bucky was having beside you.

_He was a teenager, maybe 13 or 14, and the blonde guy – Steve – was sitting at the table beside him. He was much smaller in this memory, almost sickly looking, but he still had the same smile on his face as he and Bucky took a slice each of the pizza pie in front of them._

_“How’d you manage to afford all of this?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t steal outta your mom’s purse again, did you?”_

_“That was one time, punk,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If you gotta know, you remember that guy who was giving you trouble last week behind the schoolhouse?”_

_“…which one?”_

_“Johnson.”_

_“Oh, yeah. What about him?”_

_“Well after I beat him to kingdom come, a dollar bill slipped outta his jacket pocket, and I figured I would take it as payment for the lesson I taught him that day.”_

_“Oh, really? And what lesson was that?”_

_“To go pick on someone his own size. Now shut up and eat your pizza before it gets cold.”_

Bucky shook his head as he came out of the memory, glancing over at you as you sat oblivious next to him.

“…Hey, can I ask you something?”

You glanced up, wiping some grease off of your chin as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, Bucky, what’s up?”

“…What year is it?”

You frowned, staring incredulously up at him.

“Are… Are you serious? How do you not know what year it is?”

He just ducked his head, taking another bite of his pizza as he stared at the ground in front of him. You set a hand on his shoulder, patting the metal a few times before opening your Coke.

“It’s 1980, hon. Why, what year did you think it was?”

The man beside you shrugged, already half through his pizza, and he didn’t answer you as he picked up his beverage. He fumbled with it for a second before he was able to open it like you had, and he lifted a curious eyebrow at the label before taking a cautious sip. He sputtered a little after his first sip, furrowing his eyebrows at the drink, as if it had personally offended him. You laughed and patted him on the back as he coughed, finishing off your own food before getting up to throw your trash away.

“What, have you never had a coke before?”

“It didn’t taste like this the last time I had one, let’s just say that.” He eyed the drink again before taking another sip, this time swallowing it without any incident. “…It’s not too bad, though.”

After Bucky was finished, the two of you got up again, walking a couple more blocks before you came to Brooklyn Grocery. Bucky looked weary of all the people coming in and out of the busy building, but you gave him an encouraging smile as you picked out a shopping cart and wheeled it over to him.

“You feel up to doing this, Buck?” you asked. “If it’s too much for you, you can wait outside while I get the shopping done.”

“No… No, it’s ok,” he assured you. “But thanks.”

Your shopping adventure was, for the most part, uneventful, with Bucky trailing you silently through the aisles. The only times he spoke up were when you asked him what he would want for dinner over the next few days.

“I can make us sloppy joes or tacos or pasta… Or-“

“Do you know how to make chicken a la king?”

The question came out of nowhere, but Bucky explained himself as you looked up at him curiously.

“I think… I think it used to be my favorite,” he said sheepishly. “If you don’t want to, it’s-“

“Oh, Bucky, no! I would love to,” you insisted. “I think my mom made it for me once… Let me just get the ingredients, ok?”

You smiled as you gathered everything you would need for the dish, feeling excited at Bucky’s returning memories. Whatever had happened to him, you could tell that he would never truly be the same. But with each new memory, each joke he made, each smile he sent your way, you were becoming more and more optimistic.

Once you had everything you needed, you went to go to the checkout line, but Bucky lingered in front of a display of cassette tapes. With a smile, you came over to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you looked at the various songs available.

“You wanna pick one out?”

“I don’t know much about music these days,” he sighed.

“That’s ok. Pick one out anyways; it’ll be a surprise when we listen to it at home.”

Bucky turned to you, giving you that same old half-smile before he reached out, picking a tape off of the top rack. _Somebody to Love_ by Queen.

“You, sir, just picked one of the best songs ever to be written,” you praised. His smile grew as he set it into the shopping trolly, but he frowned after a moment.

“But it won’t be a surprise for you now,” he mused.

“Oh! Well then…” You put your hand over your eyes. “Pick another one out; I won’t look.”

You only removed your hand when you heard the plastic being dropped into your cart, and you shared a smile with Bucky before finally going to the checkout counter. A few minutes later, the two of you emerged, arms laden down with bags.

“Ok, so I think we should drop this off at the house before heading to the library,” you said as you started walking again. “Besides, it’s on the way to the library anyways.”

After the two of you went home, you started putting away the groceries while Bucky took the two new cassettes over to the radio. You heard the opening lines of _Somebody to Love_ start to play as you popped the chicken into the fridge, and you sang along softly under your breath, trying to be quiet so Bucky wouldn’t be able to hear you.

When you turned around, though, Bucky was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, watching you intently. You felt your cheeks heat up under your gaze, and you abruptly stopped singing as you shoved the leftover grocery bags under the sink.

“Sorry about that,” you mumbled. “I hope my caterwauling didn’t ruin the song for you.” Bucky frowned and took a step closer to you, shaking his head.

“Of course you didn’t ruin it,” he assured you. “Your voice is… It’s nice.”

You saw a soft stain of red come over his cheeks, and you cleared your throat as you shifted on your feet.

“So… What do you think about Queen?” you asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Oh, they’re… they’re good. He has a nice voice.”

“God, I love Freddie Mercury. He’s so talented.”

The two of you were silent for another few seconds.

“Freddie Mercury is the guy who sings-“

“I kinda got that, yeah.”

You were quiet for another few seconds before you started laughing. At first, Bucky only grinned down at you, but before you knew it you could hear him chuckling, too. It was a rich, warm sound, and you knew immediately that you wanted to hear it every day going forward.

“Gosh… Okay,” you giggled. “Okay, we should go to the library now.”

He nodded and gestured for you to lead the way, and after grabbing your purse again, you led him out the door. The two of you were still smiling as you walked beside one another on the sidewalk, shoulders occasionally brushing against one another. In the distance, you could see dark clouds forming, but you didn’t mind the rain. You had plenty of time to get home before it started pouring.

It only took you guys five minutes to get to the library, and when you stood in the doorway, you breathed in the smell of books permeating the building. With a smile to the librarian, you dropped your due books into the return slot before turning to Bucky.

“So,” you said. “I’m going to go to the WWII section for some research material for my book. You’re welcome to come along, but if you want to check out the other parts of the library, that’s fine, too. Just meet me back at the front in fifteen-“

“I’ll stick with you.”

You smiled and nodded, leading him towards the historical non-fiction isles. You made a beeline to the section that covered the 1930s to the 1940s, browsing the titles for something that might help you.

Oblivious to you, Bucky was looking at the titles as well, eyes skirting over them, looking for something. He didn’t know what that something was; he didn’t even know why he seemed to feel so at-home when he thought about that time period. He just knew, deep inside of himself, that it was the key to remembering who he was.

His fingers brushed over the spines through his gloves, coming to a stop on a title that caught his eye. Feeling trepidatious, he slid the book out from the rest, scanning its title – _Captain America: The Man, The Myth, The Legend._

“Captain America…” he breathed under his breath. Why did that sound so familiar?

You looked over upon hearing his voice, looking down at the book he was holding.

“Captain America, huh?” You smiled. “I always loved learning about him in school. I did a project on him, once. You know, come to think of it, I think his best friend was named Bucky, too.”

Bucky gulped, tentatively opening the book and skimming through its pages. In the center of the novel, the pages turned glossy, and he squinted at the black-and-white photos adorning their pages. The first page held a picture of a woman standing next to an old man wearing the uniform of a general, and beneath that was a photo of a shield with a star in its center.

He turned the page, feeling his mouth go dry at the next picture he saw. It was of Captain America and his Howling Commandos, standing side by side as they smiled at the camera. Bucky’s hands started shaking as he stared with it, and when you heard him drop the book to the ground, you saw him staring at the wall, pale as a ghost.

“Bucky? Bucky, are you ok?” He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and you bent down to pick the book up. “What happened? Did you read something-“

You paused as you opened the book, flipping through to the glossy picture pages just as he had. You gasped when you turned to the same photo he’d been staring at, not believing what lay right before your eyes.

“Bucky…”

In the center of the photo was Captain America’s familiar face, but what drew your attention was the man directly to his right. He was grinning at the camera, his arm wrapped around Steve Rogers’ shoulders. His hair was neatly cut, and he was dressed in an army uniform, but you would recognize his face anywhere.

“Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes,” you read aloud, almost dropping the book yourself as you looked up at your companion.

He was staring at you, eyes darting all around your face, neither of you knowing what to say. You closed the book slowly, pressing it to your chest.

“Bucky…” you finally whispered. “The friend that you remembered, the one named Steve… It was him, wasn’t it? And you’re… You’re James Barnes.”

He slowly nodded, not believing the truth himself, and you heaved a sigh.

“This isn’t possible; how have you not aged-“

“I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse and thin. “I…don’t know. I just know that… that used to be me. I’m starting to remember _before_ , when it was me and Steve. And I remember bits and pieces of _after_ , of what I’ve…what I’ve done. But I can’t connect them…”

Your heart broke from hearing him sound so helpless, and you reached out to him without even realizing it, pulling him into a hug. Your arms wrapped tightly around his center, your head resting on his chest. The book was squeezed between your two bodies, but it didn’t bother you. You just needed to comfort Bucky; you needed to show him that he wasn’t alone.

After a few seconds, you were afraid that you’d overstepped, but just as you were about to pull away, you felt his arms slowly, tentatively, start to wrap around you. You couldn’t help the small smile that came across your lips as you held him. rubbing his shoulders softly.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered. “I promise. We’ll figure this out. I’ll help you.”

A stilted sigh slipped past his lips, and he squeezed you tighter. You felt his nose press against your hair, inhaling your scent as the two of you stood there. You didn’t know how long it was until you pulled away, but when you did, you thought you could see tears in Bucky’s eyes.

“I think we should check this book out,” you said, handing it to him. “Maybe we can read it together; it might help you remember. And once you remember, we can figure things out from there. Okay?”

Bucky nodded, looking right into your eyes. For a second, you couldn’t move, frozen by the look in those blue irises. No one had ever looked at you like that before, and it made your heart thump harder in your chest. You had to look away after a few seconds, forcing yourself to clear your throat and start walking to the librarian’s desk.

“C’mon, Buck. Let’s get this and head home.”

Once you were all done checking out, you stepped out onto the street only to find that those storm clouds you’d spotted earlier were now blanketing the sky. You could taste the approaching rain in the air, and you patted Bucky’s arm.

“Let’s hurry home; looks like it’s gonna start raining soon.”

He nodded and copied your brisk walk. Thunder rumbled in the distance as you rounded the first corner, and you groaned when you felt a raindrop plop onto the top of your head. Within minutes, it was pouring, and you and Bucky were sprinting the rest of the way home. He was fast; you had no doubt that he could have left you in the dust if he’d wanted to. But instead he kept pace with you, not even winded, whereas you were huffing and puffing by the time you turned into your alleyway. You could see the book under Bucky’s shirt; he’d shoved it under there to save it from the worst of the rain, and his hair was dripping wet by the time the two of you leapt past your doorway.

For a second, the two of you took in the other’s appearance; as he tossed the book onto the couch, you could see his muscles straining against his wet, white shirt, the lines of his metal arm now clearly visible. His hair was hanging down into his eyes, water dripping down the column of his throat, and you gulped at the sight. You knew that you couldn’t look much better yourself, and you were horrified when you looked down to see your nipples clearly visible through your thin bra and romper.

“I-I’m gonna change,” you stuttered. “And, uh… I’ll get us some towels.”

Feeling mortified, you all but ran to your bedroom, changing into the warmest pajama set you could find. After buttoning all of the shirt’s buttons, you grabbed two towels and walked out to find Bucky standing shirtless once again in your living room. You forced yourself not to stare, though, as you walked over and handed him a towel.

“Here you go, Bucky.”

He nodded his thanks and slipped on a navy blue shirt before starting to towel dry his hair. You plopped yourself down on the couch and did the same, smiling at Obi as he jumped up onto the sofa next to you. He meowed softly, and you gave him a few pets before leaning back against the cushions.

“Well… That was an eventful afternoon.”

Bucky chuckled, sinking down onto the seat next to yours.

“You can say that again.”

You were about to say something else, but a huge clap of thunder sounded outside, and not five seconds later the power went out, your window being the only remaining light source. You squinted in the dim grey of the room, making out Bucky’s face through the occasional strikes of lightning.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Well… At least I have some candles. C’mon, help me light them.”

You rooted around the cabinet beneath your sink, pulling out a handful of candles and handing the lighter to Bucky. He followed you through your apartment, lighting them after you’d sit them down, and after about six candles, the space was illuminated enough.

“Well… Watching tv is out of the question this evening,” you sighed. Your eyes skirted to your boombox in the corner, and an idea sparked in your head. “Oh! I know what we can do.”

You ran into your bedroom, coming out with your old Walkman, and you retrieved the book from its spot on the couch before sitting next to Bucky again.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the device.

“It’s a Walkman! Like a portable cassette player.” You untangled the headphones and twisted them around until the earmuffs were facing outward. You handed one end to Bucky and leaned your head close, pressing the other to your ear. “You hold it against your ear like this, ok?”

Bucky nodded, and you grinned as you went to pick up a few cassettes from their shelf next to the radio, making sure not to look at the mystery one Bucky had picked up from the grocery store.

“I think we should start off with the one you picked out,” you said, sitting beside him and popping it into the Walkman. You pressed your headphone to your ear before pressing play, smiling in delight when the familiar refrains of _American Pie_ by Don McLean started to play.

“You have a knack for picking out songs, Buck,” you praised, and you thought you caught him grin from the corner of your eyes.

You picked the book up and positioned it to where it was open between you, its left side resting on your right leg, and vise versa against Bucky’s left.

“Just let me know when I can turn the page,” you said, opening it to the first page of the introduction, which had been written by none other than Howard Stark, the famous inventor and scientist.

The two of you bent your heads, starting to read together. Bucky would nudge your knee with his once he was ready for you to turn the page, and you quickly slipped into a rhythm with one another. Once _American Pie_ was finished, you slipped _Rocket Man_ into the player, and by the time the two of you were finished with the introduction, you’d made your way through _Bridge Over Troubled Water_ and _Rich Girl._

“Are you remembering anything else?” you asked him before turning to the first chapter.

“I think I can remember this Stark person… But I don’t remember him being nice,” he said carefully.

“What do you remember him being like?”

“An asshole.”

You laughed and nudged his shoulder, slipping _Brown Eyed Girl_ into the Walkman. The two of you started to read the first chapter, which overviewed Steve Roger’s early life, and you winced the first time you saw his name appear in it. You chanced a glance over at him, but he didn’t look upset or sad. He just looked focused, a tiny crease resting between his eyes. You suddenly realized how close the two of you were sitting, and when he turned his head to look at you, your noses brushed.

Both of your eyes widened at the contact, and you quickly turned back to the book, blushing furiously as you kept reading about how Bucky and Steve had met as children. Steve had apparently always been sickly and frail, whereas Bucky had grown up strong. They’d met one day when a few bullies were pushing Steve around on the playground; he’d come to Steve’s rescue, beating the other kids away and helping his soon-to-be best friend up off the ground.

“You were a good kid,” you commented under your breath. You felt him shrug beside you.

“I just did what I thought was right,” he said. There was a hint of melancholy in his tone, and you looked up when you saw him pull the headphone away, leaning back against the couch.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He sighed, looking over your face before pushing a hand aggravatedly through his hair.

“I’m not sure I want to remember who I was,” he murmured. “I… I know that I’ve hurt people. I don’t know how, but somehow I… I was forced to do bad things for bad people. I just… I can remember just enough to know that I’m not the good man I used to be.”

You closed the book and took his metal hand in yours, lacing your fingers through his. You looked down at the sight and smiled, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

“Can you feel this?” you asked. He followed your gaze, and his fingers twitched against yours.

“I can feel the…the pressure, I guess,” he said. “I’ve never thought of it much. I think it’s a type of uh…muscle memory. I can feel phantom touches. But I can’t tell how soft something is… Or how warm or cold.”

His flesh hand reached over, and he ran a finger up the back of your hand, past your wrist and to the crook of your elbow. You felt goosebumps rise up in this touch’s wake, and you bit your lip at the sensation. You looked up to see Bucky focused on your face, his sadness evident in his eyes.

“Bucky… You said those people _forced_ you to do those things, right? If you didn’t have a choice, then you’re just as much of a victim as the people they made you hurt.”

He shook his head, looking away, and you tilted his chin towards you, forcing him to keep your gaze.

“They hurt you, didn’t they, Buck?” Tears rose up in his eyes again, and he nodded. “You couldn’t even remember your name when I found you, hon. Whoever ‘they’ are, they took your identity, your humanity, from you. And right now, you don’t have to be here with me. You could have left as soon as you woke up the second day you were with me. But you didn’t – as soon as you recognized that you had a choice, you chose to do the right thing. You didn’t go back to them; you chose to live your life the way you want to live it.

“You could have hurt me if you wanted to, Bucky,” you said, squeezing his flesh hand. “But you didn’t. That _proves_ that you’re still a good man.”

A tear slid down his cheek, and you brushed it away with your thumb. Bucky leaned his face into your touch, closing his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You deserve everything the world has to offer,” you countered.

He opened his eyes, watching you as he brought his hand up to your face. You leaned your cheek against the cool metal, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he leaned closer to you.

His lips were soft against yours. The kiss was soft, just the faintest brush of skin against skin, but it electrified every single nerve ending inside of you. Before he could pull away, you were leaning into him again, pressing your lips harder against his. His stubble was rough against your palms, but you loved the feel of it, and your heart soared when you felt his lips start to move against yours.

Bucky let his muscle memory take over as he kissed you, relying on his instincts from a life long gone as he pulled you closer. He drank in your moan as he swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips, and when you opened for him, he nearly let out a moan of his own. He suppressed the moan, focusing instead on your taste; you were sweet like the cola you’d drank earlier, and he knew that he would forever be addicted to your kisses.

Your hands moved back to his hair as a hand on your lower back pulled you into his lap, and you tugged at his tresses as he maneuvered you to straddle his waist. Something hard pressed against your inner thigh, but you didn’t feel frightened or intimidated. You ground your pelvis down against it, delighting in the hiss it drew from his lips. Suddenly, though, you felt him tense up beneath your touch.

He whispered your name against your ear, his tone as reverent as a prayer as he pulled away. Blinking dazedly, you looked down at him, at his red, swollen lips still slick with your spit.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, sitting back against his thighs. His hands were resting on your hips, rubbing circles against your sides with his thumbs.

“I… I’m afraid I’ll…” He huffed, setting his forehead on your shoulder. “I don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

You preened at his pet name and craned your neck to press a kiss to the side of his head.

“You won’t hurt me, Bucky,” you promised. “But we can take this slow if you want.”

When he lifted his head up, you pressed a soft peck to his lips, hugging around his neck. Above you, the lights flickered once, then twice before turning on again. You grinned and turned to him, playing with his hair as the power came back on.

“I trust you, Bucky,” you breathed. “I promise you won’t hurt me.”

The two of you sat there long into the night, holding one another tightly before the both of you trudged to your bed. You convinced him to wrap his arms around you as you fell asleep, whispering that it would be ok, that you wanted him there with you.

His touch slowly became more confident, and you fell asleep with him clinging to you tightly. You drifted off with a smile, surrounded by his warm embrace, completely unaware of what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please let me know what you thought! If you want, you can find me on tumblr @nikki-writes-stuff.


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